


stop confusing me with your wishful thinking

by faithtastic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A little smutty, Angst, Clarke's kind of a manipulative asshole in this, F/F, Feels, Lexa is thirsty af, Power Play, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5984314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithtastic/pseuds/faithtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coda to 3x04; Clarke visits Lexa in her bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stop confusing me with your wishful thinking

**Author's Note:**

> That bedroom scene in 3x04 made me want to fling myself into the sun.  
> Title from Play Dead by Bjork, which is Clexa af.

A commotion, the sound of terse, hushed voices, outside the door causes Lexa to look up from extinguishing the candles beside the bed. She makes it only three paces across the floor before the door crashes open, a flurry of blonde hair visible as the intruder jostles with the two guards attempting to block her entry.

“Ambassador.” Somehow Lexa manages to keep the alarm from her voice. She addresses the guards, “What is the meaning of this? I made it clear that the Ambassador of the Skaikru is not to be restrained."

The men each have a grip on one of Clarke’s arms and she shakes them off, a glower on her face.

“Heda, we told her you did not wish to be disturbed. She would not listen and tried to force her way past."

Lexa looks from the man to Clarke, noticing the way she shifts from foot to foot, not quite able to meet Lexa’s questioning stare. “She may enter. Leave us."

The guards bow their heads and withdraw, closing the door firmly behind them. Clarke remains where she is, blue eyes sweeping over the decor before settling on the bed. A faint breeze billows the curtains and makes Lexa shiver. She masks it by crossing over to the balcony and pulling the heavy drapes shut.

The silence stretches and Lexa is hesitant to turn around. “You have something to discuss?” she says when she can no longer stand it. When she finally looks over her shoulder Clarke is much nearer than she was before.

Clarke appears to gather herself. She lifts her chin and meets Lexa's eyes as she walks forward. Lexa watches her approach and swallows against the sudden dryness in her throat. “No. I don’t want to talk, Commander."

There is an undercurrent to Clarke’s words, one that makes heat prickle down Lexa’s bare arms. She turns slowly once Clarke is only a few small footsteps away. “Then why are you here?”

A flicker of hope kindles within her and she tries to tamp down on it because she remembers _I’ll kill you_ and _I’ll never bow to you_ and _I was just doing what was right for my people_. Her gaze strays to Clarke’s mouth, helplessly, then back to Clarke’s eyes. They are dark, unreadable in the low light, and it feels like they are swallowing Lexa whole.

The last thing she expects is for Clarke to let out a short laugh. It sounds foreign coming from her but it warms Lexa and confuses her in equal measure.

Clarke takes another step closer. She shakes her head. “You came to my bedroom wearing a slinky, strappy nightgown with a criminally high slit up the thigh.” Clarke glances down at the garment in question. “With your hair loose and your collarbones exposed and that fucking _yearning_ look in your eyes."

Put like that, it was foolish. It should be a source of dismay that her weakness for Clarke is so obvious when they’re alone together but to pretend otherwise would be a pointless waste of energy. Lexa presses her lips together and nods. “I’m sorry, Clarke. That was disrespectful of me."

“That’s not—“ Clarke sighs and runs a hand through her hair, snagging on a knot. Lexa’s eyes follow the movement and she wishes she could reach out. Her fingers twitch by her side. “You're making everything so difficult."

“It is not my intention to—"

“Stop, Lexa. Stop apologising, stop being so considerate, so damn... chivalrous all the time."

Lexa’s eyes widen slightly. “How else can I prove my sincerity?"

“You just have to trust me when I say I believe you won’t betray me again,” Clarke shrugs. “That’s all I can give you for now."

The _for now_ holds an echo of _not yet_ and it makes Lexa’s chest ache. She moves to step around Clarke, to put some welcome distance between them, but a hand on her forearm gives her pause. Clarke’s fingers slip down and encircle her wrist, anchoring Lexa in place.

Any semblance of calm Lexa feels is being rapidly dismantled by the gentle press of Clarke’s fingertips. She knows Clarke can detect the racing pulse beneath her skin, sees it in the way Clarke’s eyes flicker between Lexa’s own before dipping down to her lips.

“You still have feelings for me,” Clarke murmurs and it is not a question. Trapped between stoicism and fear, Lexa is unable to speak regardless. “Every instinct is screaming at me that I shouldn’t care.” Lexa hardly dares to breathe as Clarke moves close enough to brush up against her. “But I do. I’m attracted to you even though I wish to hell that I wasn’t."

Slowly Clarke lifts Lexa’s wrist and winds Lexa's arm around her waist. Heat radiates through the thin fabric of Clarke's gown and Lexa lets out an unsteady breath. Her fingers splay across Clarke’s lower back when Clarke releases her grip. She carefully takes Lexa's other bandaged hand and lays it against the side of her neck. Clarke's pulse thrums beneath Lexa’s fingers. The warmth of Clarke’s body, the lighting, fatigue and aching bones make Lexa momentarily woozy. But Clarke is solid and present and real against her hands and it sharpens her mind to clarity.

“You could’ve died today,” Clarke says and the starkness of that statement makes Lexa’s heart trip. “I don’t want to wait."

“And I do not want you to regret that decision,” Lexa says, taking a chance and running her thumb over the line of Clarke’s jaw, pleased that Clarke leans in to the touch. Only days ago this same girl had spat in her face, professed to hate her, held a blade to her throat. “I do not want to be the cause of any more pain for you."

“Unless it’s the good kind, right?”

Lexa blinks, rendered speechless by the suggestive tone and the slight smirk on Clarke’s face. A flush creeps up Lexa’s neck and she shifts her eyes away for a second to gather her scattered thoughts. She is too exhausted and too sore for this conversation and very aware of the enticing press of Clarke’s curves against her.

“What? Are you shocked?” Clarke needles. “I like sex. I _really_ like sex with girls. Their softness, how they smell, the noises they make, especially when they’re about to—"

“ _Clarke_.” Lexa’s jaw clenches so hard it makes her wince.

“Did Roan tell you about Niylah?"

Lexa stares at her. “The trading post girl?”

There is a glint in Clarke’s eyes that tells Lexa all she needs to know and she feels something rear up within her; something hot and acrid and unpleasant on her tongue. Clarke notices the change in her demeanour, recognises it for what it is: jealousy. She licks her lips and Lexa cannot help fastening her gaze on Clarke’s wet mouth.

“It was good, just what I needed at the time,” Clarke says, almost casually, and every word slices into Lexa’s skin, like death by a thousand cuts. She closes her eyes, tries to keep her breathing steady, even as her fingers tighten in the material of Clarke’s robe and her other hand grips at the back of Clarke’s neck, despite the sharp stab of pain from the wound on her palm. She feels Clarke lean in, the gust of her breath against her ear, voice dropping low. “When she was fucking me I was thinking about you."

That admission causes Lexa’s control to splinter. She spins them around and presses Clarke bodily against the wall, ignoring the painful throb of her ribs. She only opens her eyes long enough to spot the triumphant look on Clarke’s face before she crashes their lips together. In the three months Clarke was missing Lexa rarely indulged in thoughts of their reunion, only in her weakest moments did she allow herself to imagine what might occur. She thought, if they ever kissed again, it would be as tentative and gentle as their first kiss. Never like this: all heat and desperation, push and pull, and _want_ ; Clarke biting at her bottom lip then soothing it with a swipe of her tongue; that same tongue licking into her open mouth; Clarke digging one hand into her hair and pulling until Lexa is forced to break away with a gasp.

Clarke does not let go and with her head tilted back at an awkward angle Lexa is forced to look down her nose at her, trying to ignore the discomfort. She watches Clarke watching her, blue eyes with pupils blown wide sweeping down the length of Lexa’s neck, lingering over her collarbones, her heaving chest, the hard nipples poking against the flimsy nightgown. She looks like she wants to ravage Lexa but cannot decide where to begin.

“Clarke.” Lexa’s mouth is parched and her voice comes out in a croak. “Clarke. Stop."

The blonde bares her teeth, not quite a smile. “I thought you wanted this."

Lexa swallows and tries to school her voice to calm. "I do want you but not like this, tainted with anger."

There is a long moment while Clarke stares at her and Lexa is unsure whether Clarke is going to lash out, laugh or cry. By degrees her grip loosens on Lexa’s hair until her hand drops down by her side. She exhales noisily and Lexa takes that as a cue to remove her hands from Clarke. She misses the heat immediately, a cold chill travelling down the lengths of her exposed arms, over her spine.

Clarke licks her lips. “What if I can’t let it go? The anger, I mean."

“I promise I will wait, however long it takes."

A nod, then Clarke steps away from the wall. She pauses for a second, their shoulders almost but not quite touching. “Goodnight, Lexa."

Her lips quirk, an attempt at a smile. “Goodnight, Clarke."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing for this fandom. Let’s just say I’m intimidated by the standard of writing and I almost talked myself out of posting. It was supposed to be smutty but it didn’t turn out that way so for this I apologise.
> 
> I'm on tumblr @femininenachos, follow me if you're so inclined.


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